


Where You Belong

by Vevici



Category: Breach: The Archangel Job
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vevici/pseuds/Vevici
Summary: You and Michael relieve stress in the bedroom. But today, it doesn't feel like 'just sex'.
Relationships: Michael/MC (Breach), Michael/Raphael, Michael/Raphael (Breach: The Archangel Job)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Where You Belong

What Michael wants, Michael gets. You learned this in many ways, mostly by watching him interrogate a poor Outfit soldier. Sometimes you see this when he gives Gabriel a look, and the latter sighs or storms off. 

This time, you experience it when you take two steps into Michael’s safe house and he shoots up the couch, strides to you, bends down, and throws you onto his shoulder. You fist your hands around his shirt, legs flailing as you try to balance yourself. The hardness of his shoulder digs into your stomach and you let Michael know by slapping his ass. 

He smacks your ass in return, the slap echoing in the cold apartment. But his palm squeezes away the sting. Before you could ask what he was up to, he kicks a door open and you see grey wood tiles turn to dark grey carpet. You know this carpet. You’ve spent a few nights kneeling on that carpet, one night on your back. Your heart thumps faster, and you think Michael feels it because he gives your ass another squeeze.

Then he throws you to the bed. You turn around in time to see him take off his mask, then his tie, then his shirt. Your breath hitches when he lowers his hand, but instead of going to his belt, they close around your shirt. He pulls you by the collar, so you’re sitting right in front of him, your chest brushing against his thighs. The fingers around your collar tightens. 

Your eyes widen. “Don’t—”

With a chuckle Michael rips your shirt open, its buttons _thump thump thump_ to the floor. One _clacks_ as it bounces beyond the carpet. 

“That’s the third one!” You say, letting yourself flop to his firm bed. 

You try to scootch higher on his dark silk sheets, but Michael grabs you by the ankles, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. He pulls your legs straight, leaning them on his chest as his calloused hands slide down your calves, then to your thighs. His right thumb brushes over the raised bullet scar on your thigh—the one Michael himself stitched. Michael’s palms roam lower, rounding toward your lap.

He digs his nails into your flesh, and you flich. He chuckles. "Do you want to be on your knees? Or should I kneel before you?"

You gasp, trying to ignore the heat that coils around your neck. "I'd like to get on my knees for you, Michael," you say.

He chuckles again. "That's my pet." He pulls your legs apart, eyes roaming up your skin, landing between your legs, watching your arousal. He says nothing for five seconds, at which point you start pulling away. But his fingers dig in, and he pulls you off the bed. "On your knees. On the floor." 

You sink to the carpet, trying not to grin. He just might take his words back. Your hands reach for his belt, but he grabs your wrists. 

"Did I tell you to touch me?" 

You blink at Michael, cocking your head a little, and you see his Adam's apple bob. "What, you don't want me to?" A half smirk forms on your lips, but it freezes as Michael's hand snaps to your hair, yanking it back to make you look at his eyes.

"I said I'd enjoy your company. I never said anything about tolerating your smart mouth." He pulls away, eyes locked on yours. "Stay there."

Pulse thumping, blood thrumming, you kneel on the carpet as Michael moves three steps back, out of your reach but close enough to see the droplets of sweat that shine on his neck, the dark hair on his chest, the veins that run down parallel to the vee of his hips. His hands slide to his belt, unbuckling it within a second. The sound of his zipper is deafening in the room, and you’re breathing through parted lips.

"Watch."

He pulls himself out, already half hard. His hand, big and veiny as it is, isn't enough to cover his length. He strokes himself slowly. Steadily. His length glistening more with each pass of his hand. "Don't touch yourself. Just watch. This is your punishment."

You chuckle, but cut it off when Michael barks your name.

The sound of your name past his gritted teeth sends a shiver up your spine. "You don't own me Michael. Not yet." You spread your knees wider, gaze locked on Michael, as you draw one hand between your thighs.

Michael growls, but he doesn't stop stroking himself. You press your palm against yourself, gentle at first. But then—

"Fuck." Michael throws his head back, hands pumping his shaft faster. You eye his length; wide, wet, and hard. Probably hot too. But you lost your chance to taste him.

Michael’s grunts grow louder and your hands move faster, your back arching. "Michael, please."

Michael laughs. Sharp and gruff. "You're begging me now?"

"I am." You don’t lie; you can’t. Your arousal is bare for him to see. And he looks at you with sharp hunger.

"What are you begging for?"

Your head lolls back from the hint of a growl in his voice, and your hands work faster, harder against yourself.

"Tell me what you want," Michael orders again.

Your eyes snap to his length, and you finally answer. "To feel your big fat dick inside me, Michael."

Michael's hand jerks to a stop. You look up at him in time to see a wide smile crack his face before he looks away. Your own hand stops moving. He has dimples. Michael has dimples.

And now his shoulders are shaking from a silent laughter. Before you could ask if you're really in trouble now, he shakes his head. Still smiling.

"You're fucking unpredictable, you know that?"

You don't know what to say, but it doesn't matter. Michael pulls his pants off, takes two strides to get to you, and grabs you under your arms. He pulls you to your feet before pushing you into the bed.

"You'll take my fat dick however I want to give it to you."

He climbs over you, knees planted on each side of your legs, then he flips you on your stomach and pulls your ass up in the air. He presses his length against you and you moan.

"Like that, huh?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan into the sheets. The words are barely tangible but Michael seems to hear it. Because he laughs again. He leans over, chest hot against your back.

"Now you decide to be a good pet for me. Next time, maybe you can do that before I punish you."

His warmth leaves you as he straightens up. But then he pushes in, and your body boils. Blood rushes to your face, sweat drips down your neck, shivers race through your limbs as Michael pushes in with one thrust. He pulls out to the tip then slams back in again. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, bruising. But you want more. You want his hands to leave their mark on your skin.

"Please, Michael," you beg again.

He slams into you, chuckling. "Please what, babe?" Another thrust. Another moan. 

"Make me cum. Please." 

Michael stops moving and you almost rear back to punch him. Instead you growl his name into his pillow.

"Tell me you're mine," he says. "Tell me you're mine and I'll give you what you want."

You shake your head a little. Michael and his power games. But you smile too, because really, if you weren't already his, you wouldn't be in his safe-house, in his bed. So you say the words he wants to hear. Words that, though they are true, are not the ones you’d prefer to say. But Michael probably wasn’t ready for those. So you tell him in a way that he understands, in a way that he won’t reject.

"I'm yours, Michael."

A sound rumbles in his chest. Pleasure, pride, and maybe something else. Something beyond a quick fuck for stress relief.

He moves again. Faster, harder, deeper. His hand comes around your hips and rubs you between your thighs. You buck against him, moaning his name, and he in turn grunts yours.

Your name rumbles up your spine, a crescendo that ends with teeth sinking into your shoulder. Michael pulls your hair, exposing your neck, and he bites. He bites and kisses and licks, then bites again. 

Over and over. In and out.

In and out.

Until you cry his name one last time, and he pushes into you with a final thrust.

His hot breath splays across your back. "And I’m yours too."

You turn to look at him, trying not to look surprised. But he sees through you, and he clicks his tongue.

"Don't make me take it back." He pulls out of you leisurely, giving you a last groan, then falls on his side next to you.

You flop on the bed, limbs trembling. "I didn't imagine that, right?" you ask.

He scoffs. "Just shut up and come here. We've got planning to do early tomorrow."

You scoff back at him, but you snuggle into his side. And he feels warmer than he ever did before.


End file.
